Clyde staggered forward as the path solidified beneath his feet. His jaw clenched hard.
"Shit," he thought while grimacing. "If I hadn't underestimated her, I wouldn't be this torn up."
The burns and cuts throbbed in unison, each step pulling a sharp reminder from his body. He had expected resistance. He had not expected skills and strength like that. He had held back. Actually worse, he had hesitated.
"I didn't use the Demonic sword's real power from the start," he admitted to himself. "Part of me didn't believe I could."
Demonic power was volatile and unstable by nature. It twisted its wielder as often as it empowered them. And more than that, Clyde had avoided drawing too much attention by using a Demonic power. Power like that never went unnoticed.
But now it was too late.
"I've already shown my hand," he thought bitterly. "All I can do now is accept it."
The stairway ended.
Clyde stepped onto the tenth floor.
He stopped in his step.
